


I Like Leather Jackets and Supply Closets

by Mrs_SimonTam_PHD



Series: Kink Bingo 2020 [21]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: And Dean is Caty, Bi!Dean, Bi!Mick, Boarding School, Cum Eating, Foreign Student!Dean, Hand Jobs, Hickies, High School AU, Just imagine Ketch Mick and Crowley as the Mean Girls, Ketch Is a Matchmaker, M/M, Making Out, Popular Kid!Mick, Semi Public Sex, Sexual Innuendos Abound, They are 16 years old, Virgin!Mick, rebel!Dean, risk of getting caught, supply closets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:21:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23704525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_SimonTam_PHD/pseuds/Mrs_SimonTam_PHD
Summary: The Ketches are the bane of Dean's existence. Except that they're hot. Especially Mick Davies.So Dean decided to take action.
Relationships: Mick Davies/Dean Winchester
Series: Kink Bingo 2020 [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1594912
Comments: 10
Kudos: 26





	I Like Leather Jackets and Supply Closets

**Author's Note:**

> Another Kink Bingo Fill and another Bingo? WHaaaaa?
> 
> Square: Dean/Mick

Dean Winchester currently hated his life. 

His mother’s job uprooted their family  _ yet again _ , and this time, it was all the way over to London, England. 

_ And  _ his parents managed to get him and Sam into a prestigious boy’s school, Kendricks Academy. That meant saying goodbye to wearing flannels, jeans, and his leather jacket every day and saying hello to… a suit. A dark blue suit, white shirt, pale blue tie, black oxfords. Fuck this. 

Sam, the lucky bastard that he was, managed to fit in well with the local nerd group. As per usual. Dean couldn’t find a group that fit him. Add into the fact that someone spilled that he was bi, and… yeah. It made him a target for the Ketches. 

The Ketches were a clique of snobby rich boys who probably had no idea how to be dirty. Soft hands, perfect suits, they even  _ walked  _ in sync. The three head boys for the Ketches were… well, okay, they were attractive. 

The head of the Ketches was a boy who made a lot of sexual innuendos by the name of Arthur Ketch. He was a tall, broad fellow with dark hair and a stern gaze. His father was some sort of Duke or something. 

Next up was Michael “Mick” Davies. He was a shorter, more wiry guy with a seemingly permanent five o’clock shadow who had a very pronounced Irish accent. His father invented the very British version of Toaster Strudels called Scone Strudels. And instead of icing, it was jam. 

Finally, there was Fergus Crowley, a Scottish boy who seemed to always have sneaked in  _ really  _ good alcohol. His mother seemed to do something within the British government. Dean’s not quite sure. 

And they weren’t to be messed with. It was deemed as social suicide. 

For some reason, the Ketches didn’t fuck with Sam. Perhaps it was those damnable puppy dog eyes, or the fact that Sam could fit in almost anywhere. Dean always felt like he couldn’t establish himself without a minimum of two girls paying attention to him. 

Also, his mouth  _ definitely  _ got him in trouble more often than not,  _ especially  _ with the Ketches. He couldn’t help it. 

One, they were all  _ very  _ attractive (he liked one of them more in particular). Two, they set themselves up for Dean’s jokes. Especially Mick and Ketch. 

Ketch does it intentionally. Dean could tell by the way that he smirked and had a twinkle in his darker eyes. Meanwhile, Mick never walked into his jokes intentionally and would blush once he caught onto Dean’s double entendre. 

One day, Dean was feeling  _ extra  _ rebellious and instead of putting on the dark blue suit jacket, he threw on his black leather jacket. 

Sam shook his head as they walked to breakfast and he saw how Dean was dressed. “Do you  _ want  _ another detention?” he asked. 

“Sammy, it is  _ cold  _ in this place, and this provides much more warmth than those thin ass jackets,” Dean replied as they sat down. He nodded at the only vague friend he had at Kendricks, a brooding boy named Gadreel. 

“Looks like Deanie-Weenie likes leather,” Ketch drawled as he sat down across from them, Mick and Crowley following suit and sitting on either side of Ketch. 

Dean flashed a grin. “Sure do. Too bad you couldn’t feel my belt,” he snarked. 

Sam shuddered and glared at Dean. “I’m going to eat with Kevin while you do… whatever you’re doing,” he said, getting up and taking his breakfast with him, leaving Dean to face the Ketches alone. 

Dean sneaked a glance over at Mick. The Irish boy was blushing slightly. 

Ketch simply smirked after Sam left. “You know that you’ll have to be taken in hand by us soon,” he said. 

“Art!” Mick groaned, blushing a little more. 

“Hush, Mick, Dean’s a big boy,” Ketch waved his friend off. “He can handle himself.” 

“Oh, so you want a foursome? Just so you know, I don’t give it up, I just give it,” Dean said with a twin smirk. “Face down, kitty up, Art.” 

“ _ Winchester! _ ” Mick groaned in exasperation, the blush growing brighter.

“What, do you want to take the bottom bunk instead of Art?” Dean asked innocently, delighting in the way that Mick’s blush extended onto his neck, disappearing underneath of his shirt collar. 

Crowley seemed to not care about the conversation that was happening, nibbling daintily on a piece of toast covered in jam. 

Ketch snorted as he raised a brow at Dean. “You don’t give it up, huh?” he drawled. “I’m sure you’d be a cute little pillow princess.” 

“I like to be an active participant, and like I said, I don’t give it up. I just give it,” Dean said. “Not even for the Duke in training.” 

Ketch chuckled. “For the right boy though, hmm? I’m sure Mick here wouldn’t mind getting a shot at you.” 

“ _ Arthur, _ ” Mick protested, flushing even more. 

“ _ Michael, _ ” Ketch mocked, grinning. He flashed a wink at Dean. “Just remember, Dean, who runs this school.” 

“The British government,” Dean grinned cheekily. 

Crowley snorted. 

“You’re cute sometimes, you know that, Dean? Almost like that kid brother of yours,” Ketch said. 

Dean’s eyes narrowed. 

“Oh don’t worry, I won’t torture that precious baby brother of yours,” Ketch rolled his own eyes. “Just remember, the three people who control this school,” he pointed at himself, “Like looking hot and buying stuff you can’t,” he then pointed at Crowley, “drinking hard and maxing Mum’s credit cards,” he finally pointed at Mick, “Skipping gym, scaring the kids and screwing the men.” 

“ _ Arthur Ketch, _ ” Mick hissed, the color of his face remininscent of a Coca-Cola label. 

So Mick swung that way? Turns out Dean may have a chance. “Any way I can prove I’m not a pussy like you think I am?” 

“Oh, I know you’re not,” Ketch said. He then checked his watch. “Gentlemen, let’s go. We wouldn’t want to be late to maths.” 

Mick lingered a little longer, casting a shy sort of smile at Dean before he followed Ketch and Crowley off to their math class (Dean refused to call it  _ maths _ , math is not plural, it is evil). 

Dean finished his breakfast and got ready to go to his first class of the day, which was library sciences. He didn’t understand  _ why  _ he needed this class, but he didn’t mind it too much. They could write papers on whatever they wanted, as long as they used the library to do it. It was quiet, and he could use his CD player to listen to his rock music, providing that he had good headphones. 

After a couple of days of the Ketches sitting near him and Ketch dropping hints about Mick to Dean, Dean finally decided to take some action concerning the Gretchen Wieners of the Ketches. 

Every indication that Mick has given has been the a-okay for Dean to hit on him, and Dean has  _ relentlessly _ , much to the strange approval of Ketch. Perhaps he’s found a group after all. 

Finally, Dean couldn’t control the urge to just…  _ rumple  _ Mick up just a little. He always looked  _ too  _ perfect. Every hair in place, no wrinkles in his clothes, perfect, perfect, perfect. 

So one day, after the one class that Dean and Mick shared without the rest of the Ketches (Eastern Civilizations from BCE to 1700’s), Dean spied an open supply closet that a careless janitor had left open. He grabbed Mick’s elbow and discreetly pulled him into the closet with him, closing the door behind them. 

“Back into the closet we go,” Dean breathed. 

“ _ Dean _ ,” Mick hissed. Even in the dark closet, Dean could tell that he was blushing. “We’re going to get caught.” 

“So what? We’re not even in the same dorm building,” Dean reasoned, tugging Mick closer. “What’s life without a little risk?” 

Mick’s hands landed on Dean’s shoulders, fingers curling into the now permanent leather jacket. Teachers let him get away with it  _ as long as  _ he had the suit jacket on underneath. Dean was okay with that. “You’re not incorrect,” Mick said. “But is it really worth the social suicide?” 

“Dude, if your friends can’t handle you being… whatever label you are,” Dean said reasonably, “are they your friends?” 

Mick shrugged. “But-” 

“But nothing. You’ve got Ketch to hold your back,” Dean reasoned. “I’m sure that’s why he’s been subtly playing matchmaker.” 

Mick’s eyes widened and he rested his head against Dean’s. “I’ve never really done anything with guys before,” he said. “I just know that I like them.” His accent was getting thicker, rougher. 

“That’s alright,” Dean murmured lowly, tilting Mick’s face up to look at him. “I’ve got you, man.” With that, he tilted his head and gently kissed Mick. 

Mick resisted slightly at first, then wholly melted into the kiss, pressing Dean back up against the closet wall. A broom was knocked around and down to the ground but the two teenagers didn’t care, not while Dean’s fingers aimed to rough Mick’s appearance up. They ran through his hair, messing up the pomade-styled curls and feeling Mick’s five o’clock shadow rub his cheek while their hips grinded against each other’s. Mick tasted like coffee and mints and Dean wanted to drown himself in it. 

Once his fingers were done messing up Mick’s hair, Dean undid the tie and the top couple of buttons of Mick’s shirt. 

“Rumplin’ me up, Dean?” Mick breathed a laugh. 

“You look too perfect,” Dean chuckled softly, nipping Mick’s lower lip. “And so I kind of want to leave my own kind of mark on you.” 

“Fair enough,” Mick laughed quietly. He reached down and palmed Dean through his slacks. “Bollocks, you’ve got a thick one, donchya?” 

“The more to fill you up, Mick,” Dean groaned, rocking his hips down and into Mick’s hand. 

The shorter boy moaned softly and let his lips trail down onto Dean’s neck and gently bit. “Marks okay?” he asked softly. “Always wanted ta leave a hickie.” 

“Go on ahead,” Dean groaned, still rocking into Mick’s massaging hand. 

“Ta,” Mick murmured before he bit down harshly against Dean’s neck. 

Dean moaned and reached down to fumble with Mick’s slacks and belt, diving into them to feel Mick’s cock. “You don’t have a bad sized dick yourself, Mickey,” he murmured, stroking it. It  _ was  _ a little weird with the foreskin, but Dean had an image of something he had seen in a porn once, and shivered. Maybe Mick would be on board with that one day. For now, he’ll content himself with making out and hand jobs. Always a good place to start. 

Besides, they didn’t have much room in the supply closet. 

Mick moaned and rocked his own hips down. “Ya think so?” he asked against Dean’s neck, his own hands now fumbling with Dean’s belt and slacks. 

“I do,” Dean said, still stroking Mick’s cock a little faster. 

Mick’s soft hand soon wrapped around Dean’s naked cock and he moaned. “You’re cut?” he murmured softly. 

“It’s a fairly common tradition over in the US,” Dean murmured back, turning his head to catch Mick’s lips again. 

The rest of their interaction didn’t exchange many words except for curses and blasphemies to deities long forgotten as they just focused on the hand jobs and the kisses. Mick kept returning his mouth to the place he was biting on Dean’s neck, rubbing the stubble against his skin and making Dean shudder. 

The thrill of nearly being caught was also too much for them, and the interaction ended with Mick moaning Dean’s name and cumming all over Dean’s hand. Dean followed suit with a groan and slowly withdrew his face from Mick’s. He lifted his cum covered hand and licked it. “Mmm. not bad,” he said. 

“Didya just-” Mick’s ears turned bright red. 

“Yup,” Dean said. “Try it.” 

Mick lifted his own cum covered hand and tentatively licked Dean’s release from it. “Is it supposed to be salty?” he asked, his accent slurring his words together. He sounded wrecked. And hot. 

“It can be, depends on diet I guess,” Dean said. “I do eat a lot of red meat.” He found a towel and wiped his hand down before passing it to Mick. “So?” 

“So?” Mick repeated in confusion as they worked to right themselves before stepping out of the closet. 

“Did you-” Dean gestured vaguely. 

“Oh!” Mick flushed. “Yeah… I really did.” He looked at Dean earnestly. “Can we do it again?” 

Dean grinned. “Say the word, Mickey,” he said, kissing Mick softly. 

Mick beamed, blushing more. 

Dean exited the closet first, then Mick, and they (unobtrusively) left the scen of their crime. In the light of the halls of Kendricks, Dean saw that Mick’s hair was in disarray, his tie was tied backwards, he missed a button when redoing his shirt, his slacks zipper was down, and his shirt was half tucked in the front. 

Mick looked  _ wrecked.  _ Dean was proud of himself.

“There you-” Ketch stopped as he took in Mick’s appearance, then Dean’s. Dean’s neck was sporting a beard burn hickey, a fairly large one that he hadn’t seen yet, and his jacket was slouched around his shoulders. “What in the bloody hell happened to  _ you two? _ ” 

Mick gave a shrug and patted Ketch’s shoulder. “Closets are fun, Art,” he said innocently. 

Dean coughed and gave Ketch his best ‘devil-may-care’ grin. 

Ketch chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Alright, you two. Let’s go get dinner. I’m famished, and I want to finish up my paper on symmetry in the universe.” 

“Nerd,” Dean teased as he slung an arm around Mick’s shoulders. Mick responded by wrapping one around Dean’s waist. 

“Hush, Winchester,” Ketch snarked, smiling softly at the sight of the match he had set up. 

“Make me, Ketch,” Dean grinned back. 

And if the next morning, Mick was sporting a too big for him black leather jacket? 

Well, that was the Ketches’s business, wasn’t it?

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: @lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell
> 
> Twitter: @Alendra_Dragon
> 
> Comments and Kudos are Shiny!!


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